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Rummmble
. The distant sound wipes the musings from my mind, and my daughter comes to a sudden halt. MadRiver and LRiz stop moving as well, and for a moment I hear nothing but my own heavy panting.

RUMMMBLE
. I take a step toward Alex, and she turns to me wide eyed, her lips tightly pressed together.
Yes
, I tell her with my gaze,
that is what you think it is
. Her complexion fades to a spectral shade of alabaster.

The air around us suddenly changes. A cold wind pushes away the summer's heat and forces its way around us. Shivering, I look up and watch the last of the blue fade from the angry sky.

MadRiver drops his pack and tears open the top compartment. A few seconds later, a large plastic tarp and a few bungee cords lie at my feet. “It won't help if there's lightning, but at least we'll stay dry,” he mutters as his eyes survey the neighboring trees.

The wind picks up. The rain is coming soon, so we have to hurry. LRiz and I help MadRiver attach the bungee cords to the sides of the plastic. We then stretch the material over our heads and fasten the other ends of
the cords to trees. The result is a roof just large enough to shelter the four of us and our packs. We huddle together and wait for the inevitable downpour.

BOOM!

The rain arrives all at once. The heavy drops bounce off our plastic roof and splatter onto the dirt below.

LRiz asks Alex how she's doing. Alex answers, “Fine.” Her voice is faint and unconvincing.

Thankfully, the storm moves away as quickly as it came, departing only five minutes after its arrival. Grateful for the lack of hailstones and the presence of two other adults, I help MadRiver fold the tarp and retrieve his bungees. Alex stands off to the side, looking relieved and a little surprised. I ask her what she's thinking. She tells me that this thunderstorm wasn't very scary.

“Not all of them are like the one on Mount Tom,” I tell her.

“Good to know,” she replies.

Just one more mile stands between us and the summit. One long, miserable mile. The recent brief but heavy downpour has turned this trail into a fast-running stream, and I slosh through ankle-high water as I unhappily push myself toward the top of this blasted mountain. The water is calf-high to Alex. My daughter valiantly splashes onward, a little bundle of
can-do attitude in the midst of three tired and cranky adults.

LRiz suddenly bids adieu and picks up her pace. It's time for her to move at her natural speed, which is light-years faster than ours. She wants to get back to her car before nightfall. I envy her. She'll probably be warm and dry in her home before we've made it back down to the shelter. I watch as she quickly disappears up the trail.

An outrageously short amount of time later, LRiz reappears. She's touched the summit cairn already! “It's beautiful up there!” she yells as she flies by. The three of us stare after her for a second, then turn our weary bodies to resume our slow trudge.

Maybe it is actually beautiful up here. I've no idea. I don't think Alex does, either. We're at the top, and the skies are mostly clear, and we can see out and down into the valley. There's even a rainbow arching over half the landscape. I suppose if we weren't completely worn out, we would think of all this as pretty. I look at Alex, sitting by the cairn and staring dully into the distance. My daughter has not complained once on this hike, but she must be tired. I'm tired. I'm more than tired. I'm ready to forgo the shelter and curl up right next to the pile of rocks at my feet.

“Hey, Alex,” I say.

“What?” she answers. Ah, there it is—the fatigue is evident in her voice. She sounds exhausted. No problem. I have our tent, I have our sleeping bags. If she can't make it to the shelter, then we'll just sleep close to here.

“How'd you like that grouse?”

Alex pauses briefly before giving her answer. “I didn't.”

“What about the thunder?”

“Nope.”

“How about the rain? Did you like the rain?”

A hint of a smile plays at the left corner of her mouth.

“Uh, no.”

“How about that river-trail we sloshed through? You must have loved that.”

Some of the twinkle comes back into my daughter's eyes. “Still no,” she answers.

“Now for a serious question. Are you too tired to make it back to the shelter? We can sleep near here if you like. That's not a problem.”

Alex turns her face away from mine and gazes back out at the landscape. The rainbow has brightened a bit. Its red stripe is particularly bold, and it overshadows the rest of the spectrum.

“I'm okay,” Alex says after a few minutes.

MadRiver calls to us from a dozen yards away. He is ready to head down. Alex and I struggle to our feet and follow him.

We make it to the shelter a few hours later, feet soaked, legs aching, and stomachs rumbling. MadRiver cooks some stew on his portable stove while I put fresh clothes on Alex. Soon after eating, Alex crawls into her sleeping bag and falls silent. She doesn't move for eleven straight hours.

The morning is bright, our socks are dry, and our attitudes are cheery. We leave the shelter in fine spirits after a peaceful night's sleep and immediately encounter an unrecognizable river.

We did, of course, cross this water yesterday. Then, however, it resembled a brook. Now it looks like a crazy rush of water flying over a multitude of submerged rocks with alarming speed. None of the stepping stones Alex previously used are visible. MadRiver and I look at each other with concern, and I am grateful I have enough food to sustain us for another day. If we can't safely cross, then we'll have to hole up for another night at the shelter.

One can't step casually through such water. It can, if you're not extremely careful, knock you off your feet and slam your head into a dozen rocks as it carries you down the mountain. My eyes scan the surface as I weigh the risks. Should we just hang out at the shelter for a few more hours and see if the water level diminishes throughout the day?

I notice MadRiver unbuckling his pack and I give him a curious look. He nods at me before taking a careful step into the water. He's going to give it a try. The unfastened buckles are a precaution. If the water knocks him off balance, he will attempt to ditch his pack before it snags on something and forces his head underwater.

MadRiver moves slowly and carefully, using his hiking poles for support and balance. There are a few places where the water rises above his thighs, but, for the most part, it's only knee deep. He reaches the other side without incident, then turns and looks at me.

I take Alex's pack from her, then tell her to sit down
and wait for me to return. My strategy: get my backpack and Alex's backpack across, then return for Alex. This will give me a chance to experiment with my footing and look for the easiest places for Alex to step. I am not allowed to carry her, as that would disqualify her for the Four Thousand Footer Club. She has to hike every step on her own two feet. Alex will walk across
if
I think it safe for her to do so.

I unbuckle my straps, sling Alex's pack over my wrist, and step into the cold water.

The force of the moving water is surprising. Even though I'm only up to my ankles and standing immediately next to dry land, my feet are roughly shoved by the current. In go my hiking poles. I anchor them between stones and start to shuffle my feet, taking small steps to better secure my balance.

I'm halfway across when I come to a depression in the bottom of the brook. My next step submerges me up to my thighs, and I must move extremely slowly so that I don't lose my balance. The depression is only a few feet wide, but it presents a danger for Alex. Water up to my thighs means water up to Alex's chest, and this water is extremely cold and moving fast.

When I reach MadRiver, I turn and wave at Alex, who smiles and patiently waves back.

“I'm going to need your help,” I say.

“Sure. What can I do?”

I ask if he'll meet me halfway with Alex and spot us as we go through the deeper part of the water. He
agrees, and we carefully wade through the rushing brook until we reach the middle. He anchors his poles between rocks and grips the handles tightly as I return to Alex.

I explain to her that the water is very cold, and that she will feel as though her legs are being strongly pushed. I tell her that in order to keep her balance, she must move very slowly, and she must bring her feet through the water instead of trying to bring each foot up and over with every step. I also tell her that I will keep a firm hand on her at all times. She nods, then looks at MadRiver standing in the middle of the brook.

“He's going to help us across a deeper part of the stream. When we get close to where he is, you must listen to me and do exactly what I tell you without question.”

Alex agrees.

“One more thing. Always respect the water. It can knock you down and carry you away if you become too quick or too careless. Respect the situation we're in.”